


Bad Timing

by CariniCode



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Superfamily (mentioned), Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariniCode/pseuds/CariniCode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Tumblr prompt: the spider bite also left Peter with residue venom, which causes health problems from time to time. Usually it's maintained by an anti-venom, but Peter's all out--Wade finds him after the venom begins to take effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Timing

**Author's Note:**

> This is from a tumblr prompt given to spideypoolfanfics by anon; it's also my first spideypool contribution so hopefully it's not completely off character.

He began to notice it on his way home, after leaving a few muggers strung up in the alleyway a few blocks back—they wouldn't be robbing anyone else in the near future—it was the almost familiar muscle cramps that began in the back of his neck. It was nothing more than a twinging sensation, but with it came the knowledge that it'd only get worse in the next few hours. Picking up speed, Peter moved across the rooftops with ease and grace, skipping the twists and turns in favor of getting back home before the symptoms worsened. There was an injection in the desk drawer with his name on it. 

Sirens in the distance caught his attention three blocks away, though, stopping him in his tracks. There was still time before the symptoms set in to help the city, but that was the problem: his time was limited. Mulling it over for approximately three seconds, Peter changed directions and went after the sirens. 

“Kind of late for a bank robbery,” he muttered to himself, landing on the roof adjacent to the building the cops were surrounding. From what he could see, the villains had the doors blockaded, but no possible escape route—technically, Peter could leave this to the police and go home. But there might be civilians, and while the police were trained professionals, he wasn't keen on leaving them to handle villains all on their own. Especially because bad guys never seemed to have any problem with killing cops. 

Leaping across the rooftops with ease, Peter used one of the open, upstairs windows to get in, and silently made his way down to the main lobby. He wasn't wrong in assuming there was hostages, and as he knelt down to count the bad guys and establish a course of action, a sharp pain split through his right shoulder blade—only conscious effort kept him from making any noise. 

It left him with a shortness of breath, as well as the worry that maybe he didn't have as much time as he thought.

Acting with a half-formed plan, Peter webbed the gun of the man closest to the civilians, yanking it away and then shooting the man in the face with another web. With him temporarily distracted, he set to disarm the other two, easily moving out of sight from the second gunman who opened fire—using the desks as cover, the young superhero reached a position to launch over the desk at the unsuspecting gunman, yanking the gun from his hands and punching him hard enough to knock him out. 

“Must be amateur night,” he laughed breathlessly, ducking behind another set of desks as the third gunman fired. Only equipped with a single fire weapon, Peter left the easiest for last—he webbed the gun from the mans hand, and then webbed him to the floor, his hands then webbed to his hips. 

As the ache in his shoulder began to ripple through his back, he stumbled forward a bit. He needed to get home, and get the injection in his systems before it got worse. 

Having forgotten about the first guy, he barely twisted out of the way of a wildly swung chair when his spidey-senses went off like a silent alarm. Rolling across the floor—and keeping the groan of agony in when his shoulder flared up—Peter dodged the thrown chair and shot the man with another burst of the webbing material, sending him stumbling back against the wall where the superhero could secure him. 

With the bad guys subdued, the civilians were able to stand on shaky legs, letting out collective sighs of relief while one man approached Peter. “Thank you, Spiderman, truly, thank you!” 

“No problem, just, ah, you know, doing my job! Speaking of which, gotta go, more saving to be done!” 

Unblocking the doors, Spiderman stepped outside cautiously so the police wouldn't accidentally shoot him. When they lowered their weapons and the hostages began to file out, he took his leave—usually he stuck around a little, to make sure everyone was okay, because he needed to get home and take the medication that would stop the muscle pain and contraction. 

It was worse when he finally did get home. The pain had spread to his chest and stomach, making him clumsy with the inability to focus. As he stumbled in through the window and over to his desk against the wall, his stomach contracted so tightly his legs gave out under him, while the chair flipped back when he tried to catch himself on it. Groaning, Peter ripped the mask off his head and pushed himself to his knees, and pulled the drawer open to find the neat little case that held the anti-venom. 

When the spider bit him back in Oscorp's labs, it didn't just leave him with super powers—it left him with the painful venom that happened to make its appearance when his healing capabilities weren't at their best. Which, after healing from the beating he took two days ago, courtesy of Electro, well, he understood why the venom was acting up now. When the problem first arose, it didn't take long for Tony to craft an anti-venom serum for him; he just injected it when the first tell-tale signs came up. 

Now, however, he was apparently out of the serum. There was nothing left but empty syringes, which meant he would be struggling through the venom's effects for the next few hours. Eventually, his healing factor would kick back in and get rid of it, but until then, well...

Peter never bothered to get up from the floor, instead shutting the case and shoving it away before crawling to the bathroom attached to his room. The tile cooled his skin, but it wouldn't last—he was already sweating as his abdominal muscles began to cramp up and go ridged, and it wouldn't be long until he was vomiting. Laying on his side so he wouldn't choke, the young hero focused on breathing. 

After an hour, Peter was ready to die. Everything hurt so bad, and he couldn't think straight—just a constant ringing, accompanied by intense pains. He already threw everything up, his throat burning with the nastiest taste in his mouth as he struggled with breathing; in normal spider bite victims, the symptoms would only last a few days; with Peter, it'd be a few hours, at worst. Those hours felt like years, and he was beginning to doubt whether or not he'd make it. 

“Yo, baby boy, what's on the agenda tonight? I was thinking Tai food, with an all night gaming session—I even brought a spare controller, since the last one was in a horrible, horrible accident that I had absolutely nothing to do—Petey?” Wade's rambling was cut off when he stepped into the bathroom, and Peter was blearily surprised that the merc had actually stopped talking without him having to kiss him. 

“Petey, what happened? Bad guys? C'mon, talk to me here, I can't read your mind,” Wade continued, as if he had never stopped, and moved over to where Peter lay sweating out of every pore and rasping with weak breaths. “Baby boy, can you hear me? What's going on?” Though it was the gentlest of touches—something that never ceased to amuse Peter, how careful Wade was with him—his entire body seized under Wade's touch, giving the merc pause before he continued to carefully pull Peter into a seated position. 

“You're kind of freaking me out here, Pete. Do I need to get Captain Dad and IronPa? Are you sick? I didn't know spiders could get sick. I know the best chicken soup recipe.” While Wade continued to ramble about Peter being sick and chicken soup, the young superhero tried to wrestle his tongue into working—a difficult battle in itself. It was like trying to talk without a tongue and a mouth full of peanut butter.

“Veno...m,” he finally muttered, body seizing again as his spine arched with pain and his muscles spasmed with aftershocks. Wade didn't hold him too tightly, not restricting his body, and for that Peter was grateful—it was minutely better if he could bend and shake with the pain, instead of staying ridged against it. 

“Venom did this to you? You should have let me cut his head off, seriously. I could have saved you a world of trouble and--” Peter could hear the worry in Wade's voice, and though the muscles in his chest hurt just as much as the rest of him, it warmed his heart and reinforced his belief that getting into a relationship with Wade was one of the best things he ever did. 

“N-not,” he tried, finally blinking his eyes open. Though the vision was blurred, he could tell Wade was checking him over for visible injuries. “Pe...rson. P... Poiso...n.” Talking was difficult and nearly impossible, but he couldn't let Wade stress and worry over him, not when it would pass in a few hours. 

“Poison?” Wade exclaimed, arms tightening around him before loosening. “I'll get tinman, he'll help—we'll get the poison flushed out of you in no time, Petey. Oh, maybe if I suck the venom out, that works, right? I saw it in a movie—or wait, am I supposed to pee on you? ...You're right, that's a jellyfish sting. Well we have to help somehow.” 

While Wade continued talking to the boxes, Peter gathered more breath to talk and explain. “I'll... be fine. Few... few hours. Stay?” Wade's body heat was doing little to soothe him, and he could hardly feel the merc's touch through all the pain, but just knowing he was there was comforting. 

He didn't hear Wade's answer through another wave of contorting pain, but through periods of consciousness he realized Wade was cleaning him up, getting him out of costume and into something more comfortable, and into bed without the covers. Over the next few hours, he twisted and cried in pain, body contorting as the venom ravished his muscles—there was no more vomiting, because he had nothing left to give, and every now and again Wade was coaxing him to drink some water to keep hydrated. 

The pain was gone when he woke the next morning, sun shining through the open window and across his chest. While he was incredibly sore, like he'd been run over by a bus, nothing hurt and his muscles weren't contracting anymore—he was sure he desperately needed to brush his teeth, but judging by the look Wade was giving him, they needed to have a talk. It was mostly relief, but Peter knew he needed to explain. 

“Make me pancakes?” he tried, voice raw and scratchy. 

“Sure, pumpkin. After you tell me why you were contorting like a human possessed,” he said, though his tone was easy. 

“Remember the radioactive spider I was bitten by?” 

“Yup. Left you with all sorts of neato superpowers like your awesome spidey-sense and epic blowjob skills?” 

“Those didn't—yeah,” he said, a smile twitching into place. “Well, it was a venomous spider, too. Every once in a while, the venom acts up. Usually I have meds to take, but I was out of them. So I had to wait for it to work it's way through.” 

Wade frowned at him. “Well, don't ever run out again because next time I might have to exorcise you or something. Seriously, you are wicked flexible baby boy.” 

“I don't hear you complaining during sex,” he quipped, pushing himself to sit up. 

“Touché.” Wade paused only a fraction of a second. “Pancakes then?” 

“Pancakes.”


End file.
